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The transport lumbered on. After the first exchange between them, Elanor sat back and pondered the words of Irian. What did that word mean, and why had he used it? What was with him? If he had kissed her, she would have been his. Maybe not totally, but it was unmistakeable. But he had shown no reaction other than anger. Was there someone she didn’t know about? She had to admt she knew nothing about him, other than the fact that he was a brilliant inventor, a gifted swordsman and pretty good looking, after the scar.

He would have been the perfect pawn to get out from under the Prince’s watchful eye. She was so tired of going here, going there, using her talents or her knowledge to further his schemes. What better way to get back at him than to use one of his own tools against him? But he wasn’t playing along! It wasn’t fair, she mused. What had she to do to get him on her side? She knew there were other ways to convince a man, and she wasn’t past it (or even averse to it, in this case) but if she went there, how to even accomplish such an act?

Irian was brightening up some, as he and Thor carried on about hitting things, death, and the afterlife. Seems that’s all he ever cared about. Hitting and killing. And ways to do it better. Elanor sighed. He was so one-dimensional, so focused, so driven. What would it take to turn him from that? She realized if she knew what turned him to it, she might have a better chance of bending him to her will.